The Final Battle
by verbal diarrhea
Summary: Is technically a sequel to 'The Dark Lord's Disorder', but can be read as a stand alone. What happens to Voldemort when reality intrudes on his carefully and neurotically structured world on the eve of the final battle? This story.


Disclaimer: I don't own HP.

Also, this story is a kind of sequel to The Dark Lord's Disorder, but can easily be read as a stand alone.

Spring Pools

It was a bright and cheerful day. The sun was shining happily in the sky, the birds were singing joyfully, trees and plants were blooming. All-in-all the day seemed to radiate peace and perfection.

Voldemort half expected some hobbits to come bounding out of the woods. He scowled at the aforementioned woods from his window seat in the Riddle manor library.

For every mad scientist with an evil invention, there always seemed to be a convenient thunderstorm brewing, ready to unleash nature's fury at the exact moment the experiment is to be labeled a success. Voldemort knew from experience that, more often than not, the experiment is a failure, or there's no storm to be had, and the Igor is left to clock in the overtime.

Voldemort redirected his scathing glare from the woods to the clear sky.

He knew about this little fact, and had tried to plan accordingly. He had obsessively listened for months in advance to the WWN (1). Channel 72, Weather Watchers, had proclaimed clouds and lightning and wet doom!

A knock on the door jerked Voldemort out of his musings.

"If you're going to storm my stronghold, boy, knocking isn't terribly appropriate I should think."

The door opened with a bold squeak, and Harry Potter poked his head around the door, a handkerchief covering his nose and mouth.

"Well, Tom, you were staring at the woods, and you must've seen me walk out of the woods...yet, there were no curses thrown," Harry stated, sounding partially muffled.

"Thought you were a hobbit," the Dark Lord muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Get to the point," Voldemort snapped. He was still staring hard at the sky. It looked almost as if he was trying to manipulate the weather with the power of his mind. Harry filed this knowledge away for future reference.

A slight cough and then, "Well, I was wondering if whatever you've caught is contagious and perhaps life threatening."

Voldemort turned around sharply.

Harry's eyes widened as he simultaneously readied his wand and prepared to use the door as a shield.

"I'm not sick," Voldemort hissed, eyes narrowed in anger.

"Then why weren't you attacking?" asked Harry after his heart stopped trying to pound its way out through his chest.

Voldemort mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'Susan' to the doorknob.

"Er, pardon?"

"I said, 'It's too sunny!'" Voldemort snapped, utterly irritated. "Tonight's Walpurgisnacht (2), it shouldn't be sunny today! You were supposed to lay siege to this manor under heavy spell-fire while the weather storms with suitable dramatic flair. Then, at exactly midnight, we were to duel. The whole final battle thing doesn't work if it's sunny!" Voldemort finished, gesticulating wildly at the window to further emphasize his point.

Harry cautiously edged into the room. "Er, sorry?" he tried.

"I mean, imagine if it were to read in a textbook: 'On the gorgeous day of April 30th, the Order of the Phoenix marched into Riddle manor whilst being serenaded by bird song.'"

"Well, it does sound rather poetic 'cause of the serenade stuff..." Voldemort glared at Harry.

"O-of course it does lack that dramatic air that a final battle needs!" Harry hastily added.

Voldemort buried his head in his hands and sighed. After a few moments he looked up. "Do you think it'll be alright if we postpone this thing until next Walpurgisnacht? The weather might be better...worse."

Harry gaped. "But it has to be done now!" he blurted out.

Voldemort arched an inquiring eyebrow.

"Well, it lacks a 'suitable dramatic flair' if it has to be postponed again," Harry stated sardonically.

Voldemort bristled at the tone and the implication. "The first time it had to be postponed! It was life or death!"

"...Weren't you just cleaning your books?"

"...It was a life or death situation."

Awkward silence ambled in, set up shop and was busy making tea and watercress sandwiches.

Eventually, Harry sighed. "When would your side like to meet my side to reschedule?"

Voldemort languidly 'accio'ed a black leather bound schedule book and quickly leafed through it. "How's Thursday?" he suggested.

Harry shook his head. "Can't," he said. "Fudge wants to award me an Order of Merlin, Second class for, 'single-handedly temporarily stopping the Dark Lord Voldemort'. I think it's to rouse the fighting spirit in the populace."

Voldemort smirked condescendingly as he turned a page in his planner. "How's next Monday then?"

"Perfect. Are we going to meet in Diagon like last time?"

"Of course. There's this new Italian restaurant that supposed to make sinfully good eggplant rollatini."

"La Primavera?"

"Precisely."

A/N: Yet again, I've written a fic, and taken four months to post it. Well, okay, so the other one was more like four years...

Footnotes:

1. WWN: Wizarding Wireless Network-a radio broadcast for wizards/witches. Like FM or AM

2. Walpurgisnacht: celebrated on April 30th or May 1st. In German it means witches' night because it is said that witches hold a large celebration and await for spring.

In Faust part one, there is a scene named Walpurgisnacht, as in the play Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf.

Hitler committed suicide on Walpurgisnacht, along with various other important Nazi officials.

Also, it was popularly believed that during Walpurgisnacht (the night of April 30th into the early hours of May 1st) the devil was abroad.

In the 1931 Dracula film, the night on which the film begins is said to be Walpurgisnacht.

Incidentally, the Death Eaters were originally called the Knights of Walpurgis.


End file.
